


How to Be OP in Dalaran

by JadeZephyr



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Crack Treated Seriously, Eventual Romance, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeZephyr/pseuds/JadeZephyr
Summary: There's the right way to be OP. And then there's Gilly. Trixx And Rheaven. Avi. Aman. Kaeli.Dalaran is full of champions, wannabes, and those stuck in between. So when a renegade imp forced out of retirement launches a worldwide rebellion, an unlikely and completely under qualified crew are called upon to step up to the plate - whether they're ready to or not.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A creepy pet shaman delivers a cryptic, equally creepy message to the absolutely wrong people. What does it all mean? Who knows.

The panic stricken frenzy that accompanies an ungodly sight can never quite be described with justice in mere words. And whatever those words that might come to mind, that was what running through the thoughts of poor Young Greg.

A barely of-age gnome with an affinity for the dark arts, Greg figured an apprenticeship among the grandest of Warlock Orders would be a cake-walk. Like many young heroes-to-be, eager to prove themselves or simply disappoint their parents on the deepest levels, he figured he would be prepared for anything.

But this… _this_ …

“MASTER IRMA!” he shrieked, stumbling chaotically through the doorway of the Order’s deeply hidden spell room. His indigo hair was a mess from exertion and sweat. Irma, an experienced dwarf and her other apprentice, the young human Faye, jumped at his entrance. An expensive vial filled with unknown ichor slipped from Faye’s hand and shattered on the stone floors, sizzling angrily as it seeped into the ground. She jumped, causing her hood to fall behind sable locks.

“Agh! Greg, what in the nether is wrong with you!?” Deep sienna eyes glared into the gnome’s wide, violet ones.

“Aye, ye manky , what’s got ye all bothered?” Irma, at least, didn’t seem like she wanted to rip his limbs off but she was rustled nonetheless.

“It’s the … that squid-faced creep you keep locked up! He’s just… he’s freaking out, man!”

“ _Wo-_ man,” Faye corrected. He rolled his eyes at her.

“The shaman screwball? What’dya mean?” Irma crossed her arms, irritated but curious.

“I.. I went down to feed him and… he was floating. Just, up in the air, like it’s totally normal, muttering something about a … vision? A prophecy? I can’t remember…his eyes were glowing black.. somehow…”

Before he could finish, Irma was rushing down the murky stairwell into the depths below. Her apprentices exchanged a glance before taking off after her.

Sure enough, just as the gnome had described, in the center of the room the Draenei pet was floating eerily upside down in his cage. He was surrounded by wisps of dark energy, undulating through the air in a similar unnerving fashion as the glorious tentacles on his face. He was in a half-daze, eyes hooded and clouded with an eery dark fog, babbling barely audible words. Irma leaned against his cage, straining to hear.

“… the great-daughter… of night’s fury… will be the undoing…” he muttered. Behind her, the young warlocks froze in the entranceway to the room.

Faye stood in horror at the sight, while Greg hid unabashedly behind her robe. “What… the actual f-“

“THE GREAT-DAUGHTER WILL BE THE UNDOING!” the shaman boomed before a loud crack and blast of darkness knocked all three on their rears.

A few moments passed before they gathered their bearings, eyeing each other anxiously. Irma stood, dusting off her skirts and gazed with caution back into the cage. Her shaman captive, a portly young Draenei, sat happily tending to his tentacles as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

“Oh! ‘Allo!” he chirped. “Iz eet lunch time?” he beamed. Faye and Greg were huddled, holding each other in fear. Irma simply stared at him, somewhat baffled.

“Aye, me pet. It’s lunch. And you an' I, we’re gonna have a wee chat.” She turned to the shaking youths. “You lot, run upstairs an’ get me a notepad and quill, will ye?”

The pair didn’t need to be told twice. Irma returned her attention to the shaman.

“The great-daughter of night’s fury, eh? Well… this should be interesting.”


	2. Recruitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilly leads a trio of pretty girls who spend their days in Dalaran heckling strangers and drinking the finest wines Azeroth has to offer. When an uppity druid requests their aid in starting a guild, he has no idea what he's about to get into...

“Look at that armor. What a shame.” Gilly poured herself another glass of Dalaran’s finest pinot noir - her third or forth, maybe. But, who’s counting?

The subject of her comment was a full figured dwarfess who came trampling into the Inn, head to toe covered in soot and what could be dried blood. But the true tragedy was the lack of coordination - a double ringed silver halo hovered mystically behind her head, while her belt was adorned with gold accents. Gilly cringed at the sight. _You never mix metals_.

“Any self respecting guild leader should expect more of their casters.” She twirled a soft blonde ringlet around her finger, tilting her head as she sipped appreciatively at her wine. To her left sat Amán, a pretty-faced Draenei with deep blue curls almost as impeccably shaped as her own. Almost. With them at her right sat Trixx. What could you say about Trixx? She was a gnome, and Gilly supposed she was pretty enough, although her absurdly magenta pigtails were their own brand of absurdity.

Well, that’s the key to being a successful socialite in Azeroth. Surround yourself with pretty people, but not prettier than you. Gilly was, in her humble opinion, a member of the elite for looks in Dalaran. She came from a wealthy family, allowing her to live a cushy life far from battle scars and stress. She dabbled in the arcane, of course, but nothing too serious and certainly nothing _dangerous_. Her soft curves and crystalline blue eyes topped off an exquisite package. It was, quite frankly, a wonderful thing, being perfect.

Amán and Trixx were nothing to scoff at either, although not close enough to ever eclipse Gilly, naturally, and each had some odd quirks about them. But for a Draenei and a gnome, they were attractive and so she absorbed them into her Elite Wine Tasting Club and was pleasantly surprised to find them good company as well.

Together the triad enjoyed a life of luxury and gossip, socializing and criticizing, and Gilly, honestly, wouldn’t want it any other way.

The gnome looked up from the book she was reading. Engineering, Gilly noted. Trixx had a thing about explosives.

“Who?” The tiny thing looked around with giant, pink-lashed eyes.

“That dwarf.” Gilly gestured to the bar with her head, but the gnome just shrugged and went back to reading.

Gilly clicked her tongue in annoyance. The innkeeper admitted the dwarf a room, shooting the girls a nasty look once the mage had disappeared up the stairs.

The Draenei had her eyes closed, head bowed in silent prayer.

“It’s only cheese, Amán.”

“Every piece of food iz gift, Gilly. Ven we land our ship on Azeroth, we had no food of vater and many injured.”

“It’s ‘ _water_ ’.”

“Thiz iz vat I say. Vah-ter...”

“Ugh!”

Just then, the innkeeper came over, clearly rustled.

“How many more days are you three going to come here and gossip about our patrons? You do realize they are contributing greatly to the future of our worlds, don’t you?” She crossed her pudgy arms, attempting to look intimidating.

“We’re contributing!” Gilly snapped back. “How else would anybody here know the relevant happenings in Azeroth?”

The innkeeper snarled.

“Unfounded rumors about which harlot the King is sleeping with is hardly relevant.” Gilly shrugged.

“I strongly disagree.” She gestured a checkmark in the air.

“How did you fools get to Dalaran, anyway? Clearly, none of you are experienced enough to be doing any worthwhile work.” Amán perked up, gesturing towards Gilly.

“Mine sestra!” The innkeeper gave her a confused look. “She haz portal.”

“Don’t mind her,” Trixx interjected. “She barely speaks common.”

With a sigh of defeat, the innkeeper stormed off behind the bar, muttering vulgar nothings to herself.

“What a _strumpet_ ,” Gilly announced in a low tone, so only her table mates could hear.

“Vatch you language!” Amán scowled. “Diz iz no way to speak for lady.”

“No, but seriously, she needs to get buggered.”

The conversation was interrupted by a sudden, looming shadow. Standing before them, blocking all the light due to his shear mass, was none other than a Night Elf, though shorter than most Gilly had met. He was decked out in what appeared to be high tier armor. He had dewy blue skin, turquoise hair tied back into a braid, and a round, young face. He bowed, excusing himself, and then laid out a quality stock parchment paper with impeccably written Statement of Intent or some-such. Gilly wondered if he was rich, leaning over with the most impeccable smile she could muster.

“Good evening, fine citizens. My name is Rheaven, druid and steward of Malfurion. I aim to lead a guild to join the fight in bringing the fury of Azeroth to the enemy’s doorsteps.”

Trixx tilted her head at him, eyes wide and impressed.

“How many turkeys did you kill for those _shoulders_?” He blinked.

“This is handcrafted raven-feathered enchanted armor, miss.” She nodded blankly.

“But you are Raven?” Amán questioned. He raised an absurdly long eyebrow.

“What? Yes, I’m Rheaven. Or do you mean…. My armor is made of raven feath—”

“So you are cannibal?” Amán shouted, standing so abruptly her tail knocked her chair over. He took a step back, and the barmaid and several patrons turned their attention to the unfolding shenanigans.

“N..no. I….”

“Ooooo tell us more!” Trixx gazed up at him in genuine, innocent wonderment. He furrowed his brows, reconsidering what he was about to do.

“Anyway…” he eyed Gilly as if she was his last hope for sanity in the moment, though she was eyeing him like a starved saber would eye a baby merloc. “You all appear to be guileless, and I require a charter to ..” He paused, watching in awe as she finished her glass and was now unceremoniously chugging the rest of the bottle. “… if you ladies wouldn’t mind, just signing. You don’t have to stick around. I’m running out of time.”

Gilly slammed the bottle down on the table, waving for another. “What’s in it for us, handsome?” she asked coyly, attempting to flag down the innkeeper who was clearly trying to ignore them.

“Do you require a particular knowledge of explosives?” Trixx looked hopeful.

“I vant to know you are not cannibal.” Amán stood rigid, arms crossed and hooves matching her height to his.

His left eye twitched.

“Look. How about this. I’ll pay…10 gold a signature. You don’t have to commit, really, I just need to present this to —”

“We’re in!” Gilly slapped her hand on the parchment, conjuring up a quill. Amán gave her a severe, disapproving look. “ _What_? You know how much wine 10 gold buys out here? A lady’s gotta eat.” The elf scrunched his face.

“That doesn't—”

“WOO HOO, WE’RE GONNA BE IN A GUILD!” Trixx excitedly grabbed the quill from Gilly, who barely finished signing. With reluctance, Amán followed suit, making sure her autograph was an image of impeccable daintiness. Rheaven cleared his throat, blowing on the wet ink and eyeing the girls suspiciously.

“Out of curiosity, what was the last campaign you all participated in?”

“Mmmmmmmm. Oh! I helped one of your guys out a little while ago!” Gilly perked. The elf titled his head, interested and hopeful.

“Oh?”

“Yes. Out in the Barrens, I think.”

“I vemember zis!” Amán clapped her hands together. “Waz ‘orrible cave. Very vindy. Many snakes. Smelled bad.” Rheaven’s eyes widened in stunned realization.

“W… was it the Wailing Caverns? That was your _last_ mission??” Gilly grinned.

“Yes, that’s the on! Before that asshole dragon ruined everything.” She raised an empty glass to the sky. “Onyxia had great fashion sense, though. Rest in power, you savage minx.”

The night elf looked horrified. Out of the corner of his eye, the innkeeper gave him a very grave, sympathetic look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for Ch 3: Ugh, Blood Elves
> 
> A sketchy Blood Elf tries to peddle her wares and piques Gilly’s interest, much to the aggravation of Rheaven and Amán. Rheaven fails to motivate the recruits to do any useful training.


End file.
